


Keep the duster and stay away from the sage, cleaner boy

by BlueAlmond



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Ghosts, M/M, Mild Smut, Protectiveness, there's a cat too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueAlmond/pseuds/BlueAlmond
Summary: Tony adopts a cat. Or more like, a cat adopts Tony. And because of that, he ends up getting a different cleaner—one that doesn’t complain about Tony’s new roommate.Enter, Steve Rogers, who likes cats but doesn’t like ghosts that much.





	Keep the duster and stay away from the sage, cleaner boy

Tony never had pets growing up. He never even had the time to want one. He had other interests, like blocks and computers and overall science that he never bothered to ask his parents if they could have a pet. He knew his mother was allergic to cats anyway, because whenever she visited a friend she returned sneezing and explaining it was all her friend’s cat’s fault.

So, when Tony was twenty-two years old and living completely alone in a house on a hill in Malibu, he still didn’t know what having a pet was like. To be honest, he didn’t really know what life for other people was like. Not only he was filthy rich, he was also a genius, and that offered him a perspective that not many others could reach, but in turn kept him out of the loop for most people’s normality.

For example, he never cared that his apartment was obviously haunted.

Then again, it barely caused him any inconveniences. The location of the house was great, the infrastructure too, and whatever it was that liked to cause mayhem in his kitchen mostly stayed over there, and Tony didn’t cook. It was only mildly annoying when his things went missing for no reason and then appeared hours or days later, on places he already had looked, or when his laptop started playing music on its own very loudly. He thought it was a lot like having a roommate must have been, but he couldn’t tell, because he never had one before. And so, he didn’t care. He didn’t even spend that much time in there anyway. Girls liked inviting him over to their place, and his workshop was in his company’s building, to keep him around. Obadiah had even suggested he moved in closer, which only had convinced Tony even further that his house was perfect, all paranormal activity easily ignored.

Still, he could admit from time to time that some things would make him nervous. He was a science man and he never liked things he couldn’t fully understand. And so, at times, it overwhelmed him. But when that happened he just needed to step out of it for a while, and it would pass. Honestly, the times he’d be there just chilling were rare.

For example, one Friday afternoon in particular would always come to mind, where if it hadn’t been because he’d been on his way to collect some drawings when he remembered that he was needed for something at his company that he really didn’t want to do, he would’ve been on his workshop. But instead, he left a bucket filled with nuts and bolts on top of the kitchen counter and went to his room to take a nap, because he hadn’t slept at all the night before, and barely an hour the one before that.

The lack of sleep was precisely what he blamed on his carelessness. Had he been more awake, he never would’ve left that on top of the counter.

Still, he did, and he would never regret it.

He’d been about to fall asleep when there was a loud rattle from the kitchen, which wasn’t actually abnormal, except from the low whine that followed. He straightened but didn’t stand right away, frowning as he listened, waiting for something else. And then, another whine. High-pitched, not quite human, but… scared. It was definitely weird. And so, he went to inspect; slowly, almost timidly, only to find the bucket he’d left on the counter on the floor.

Well, not exactly on the floor, he noticed a moment later, when he watched it move, as he heard that weird whine once again. There was a creature whose head was locked inside the bucket and was desperately trying to get it off with its little paws but couldn’t, rolling over the floor and out into the living room in its effort.

Tony kneeled by the creature’s side apprehensively, knowing it would probably scratch him but also knowing there was no other way to fix it, and liberated the creature as fast as he could. He uncovered then a tiny black cat with white in its chest, in its paws, and in one complete arm. It also had the bluest eyes Tony had seen on a cat. And it seemed furious. The poor thing was clearly still confused and alarmed, out of its depth in that part of the house which hadn’t been the same he’d been before falling inside the bucket, and Tony couldn’t help to be amused with the view. He raised a hand as one would try to approach a horse meaning no harm, and then lowered it, as if he was offering a bird food. The cat eyed his hand, probably noticed he had absolutely nothing of value there, and meowed.

Tony chuckled under his breath. “Okay, I guess I’m not making a good offer here. Give me a moment. Wait there. Before you get yourself in trouble again.” He went back into the kitchen and didn’t care to check if the tiny thing listened to him or not. He checked his fridge for something a cat would eat, eyed the milk and decided he needed to make some research first, and then went into his pantry and grabbed a can of tuna. He then took two plates from a cabinet and filled one with water and verted the tuna in the other.

“Alright, I think none of these will make you sick, but I’m going to check right away anyway.”

The cat meowed again, eyeing him attentively and waving its tail slowly. The minute Tony had placed the plates on the floor, before he could even take a step back, the cat rushed to devour it. It finished it in minutes, and once it was done with its water, it directed his attention back to Tony, curiously.

“Well, that was more than enough for now, don’t you think?” He kneeled again and dared to pet it softly on the head. “How did you get here, buddy? Do you have a home?”

Obviously, the cat couldn’t answer, and Tony already had guessed how’d it gotten there. What he didn’t know was whether the cat had a home or not, but judging by its scruffy hair, its paws and nose, he didn’t think the creature had been taken care of in a while. He dared to see if the cat would let him hold him and it did. “There you go, uh… boy? I think you’re a boy. I’m going to check that later too,” he mumbled, scratching the little thing’s chin. “Aren’t you precious? Oh, aren’t you a precious little thing?”

The cat simply conquered his heart. He felt bad for thinking it but he _hoped_ he didn’t have a house to go back to, because he was going to keep it.

“I’m going to call you Bucky,” muttered he, while petting his head. Then the cat started purring, and suddenly Tony realized why everybody loved those tiny creatures. It was just impossible not to. He figured there would be a couple of downsides to getting yet another unplanned roommate, but he didn’t care. At least he could pet this one, and find reliable information online, unlike the one that lurked in his kitchen.

It would be four days before he realized how much having a cat would change his life. Well, sort of. It would really take a little longer but that definitely could be considered a breaking point.

The next Tuesday morning he had to leave a little earlier than what he liked, and happened to run into his cleaner, which didn’t happen often. He hired an agency and he knew they would rotate sometimes, so he didn’t even catch the name of some. This one he thought he had seen before, a woman that ought to be late in her thirties or so, that would usually smile at him a little too much.

When he found her on his living room that Tuesday morning, she didn’t.

The cleaner was wrinkling her nose in disgust. “That little monster is making a mess just as I clean.”

Tony arched his eyebrows and stared at her in disbelief. “Really?” He pursed his lips and took one look at Bucky, who was in the process of turning a magazine to shreds. “Well. That’s a problem, for sure.”

He definitely had to hire a different cleaner. And they would have to _love_ cats, as a requisite. He would get on it right away.

֍

When Steve first started working with the cleaning agency a lot of people around him had been surprised, to put it lightly. He hadn’t cared. But he cared to tell them so, and make sure to hear exactly what it was that they were so surprised about, when they turned defensive.

It was honest work, and he needed it. End of the story.

He was an art student, trying to make it at the other side of the country from where he’d grown up, and it really wasn’t easy. Cleaning was easy. Tiring, sure, but he knew what he was doing. He’d been doing it since he was ten, at his own house. He was responsible and careful, so he found it a more than good alternative with good hours. Sure, the first time they sent him to clean a mansion he almost cried. He imagined breaking one single object and being in debt for the rest of his life—which, to be fair, wasn’t that far from his reality anyway—and it was a huge place to clean by himself, but he managed, and after a couple of months, he was more than happy with his choices.

Until he had to clean one particular house on a hill in Malibu.

“I’m not home much, so…” the owner shrugged. “Just, keep the place clean, champ.”

“Very well, Mr. Stark.” He nodded and watched the man leave. Most people usually made some remarks about certain rooms or certain art pieces, but that guy had spent twenty minutes talking about his cat. Once he saw that Steve was more than familiar with cats, and that _his_ cat seemed to approve of him, he was ready to leave, and honestly? Steve found that oddly endearing.

His first day there went alright. The house was big and a little messy, but only on certain parts, like the bedroom and the studio. The kitchen and the living room were flawless, almost as if no one ever used them, which was quite a view for a house with a cat as active as Bucky had proved to be—he followed Steve around the entire time he was there, and he was even forced to stop what he was doing and play a little. After that proved to do more damage than good, for the cat wouldn’t let him go, he gave the little thing a cloth and told him to help him clean. It worked. And by the second time he went there, he felt far more prepared, and considered he was even more efficient.

Until he took a short break in the kitchen and drank a glass of water.

He couldn’t have been there for more than a couple of minutes, and once he was done, he simply left the glass in the sink, decided to wash it later. He then went back to the bathroom to take out the products that he needed and was surprised to find the door closed, but he didn’t make much of it. The window was open. It was normal. But the clashing sound that came from the kitchen right after wasn’t. He rushed there, worrying Bucky might have thrown something and might have gotten injured, only to find not only the cat was not there, but also his empty glass of juice he’d left on the sink was broken on the floor.

Even if it had been Bucky, there was no way he could’ve taken the glass out of the sink and then thrown it to the floor. It simply made no sense. He looked around nervously, confirmed there was nothing around that could’ve caused it, and proceeded to clean the mess quickly.

When Mr. Stark came home a few hours later, Steve was still there. Well, he was waiting on the porch, with Bucky. He’d exited the house as soon as he was done, but he’d stayed around because he needed to tell the man what had happened.

“Mr. Stark, a glass broke. I…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” the man waved a hand dismissively. “That stuff happens.”

“No. That’s not why I’m apologizing. I mean, I am sorry, but,” he licked his lips and shifted in his feet, “I was nowhere around it. It just fell out the sink. For no reason.”

“Yeah. That shit happens here. This place is haunted,” he grinned and winked an eye at him.

“Mr. Stark…”

“I mean it. Why do you think I’m never here?”

It was absurd. Steve couldn’t imagine someone would live in a haunted house for years with the amounts of money Mr. Stark had. He understood that some people would when they had no choice and the haunting was bearable. He understood some could brush it off as an inconvenience because it was easier, simpler, when to fix it was too complicated. But Mr. Stark was a billionaire. He could find another house, one that he felt comfortable being in. What was he still doing there?

The next time he went to Mr. Stark’s home, he took sage with him.

֍

Tony had lived in that house of Malibu for a couple of years now, and he was more than used to his immaterial roommate. By ear, he could recognize exactly what things were falling down and where, which doors were being slammed. He was used to it, even Bucky was.

But after the third time his gorgeous cleaner boy visited, it changed.

He thinks of that night often because it was the first night he didn’t hear a thing. Bucky slept by his side and none of them were bothered at all, which was strange, but Tony brushed it off and assumed they simply had gotten used to it. However, once he entered the kitchen, sure he would find some cabinet doors open and stuff, as usual, he was shocked to see it just like he’d left it the night before. It was disconcerting, and just a tiny bit unsettling, but he wasn’t going to complain. He was running out of glasses for the fourth time that year, and it was May.

So, for about a week, he kept sleeping peacefully. It was unnerving, with how used he’d been to the noise and just the overall feeling of not being alone, and at some point, he might have even considered he missed it. He didn’t think he really did. It was just some strange kind of nostalgia, especially since he hadn’t known it would stop. What he did know was that one week wasn’t enough to forget it, or to get too comfortable in the apparent calm. So when it all started again, stronger, louder, and scarier, he knew it wasn’t just his perception, but that the thing had gotten angry and wanted to be worse.

It was being worse, definitely with how it dropped the bathroom mirror while he was on the toilet and it almost scarred his face—almost fucked up his eye! —or how it constantly turned on the oven and smashed shut all the windows and turned all the locks.

One thing was feeling as if he shared his house with someone he couldn’t see. Another was feeling unsafe, and fear for his cat’s life as well as his own physical integrity.

He didn’t like making research on the paranormal. He felt stupid. But he had no idea what could’ve caused it, or how he could fix it. He knew, however, that it all had started after the sexy cleaner had gone, the one that was scheduled for the next day. What was one more night of nightmares? He would wait and ask that guy what he’d done, if he really did something. He almost wished he had. The idea of having something to torment that pretty boy was more than exciting. He only had allowed himself to ogle the blond after he’d confirmed that Bucky liked him, but once he did, he was more than content with what he saw, and it almost tempted him to stay around more often. He hadn’t, though, because his house was haunted and because it wouldn’t have been ethical, probably, or whatever. Also because he had very big muscles and the keys to his place, so Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to make a move first without knowing if the guy could be interested. But well, he worked as a cleaner, so toxic masculinity probably wasn’t a problem, but he still couldn’t be sure, and he didn’t like rejection. Back then, when he’d just started working, rejection had been scarier than the ghost that lived in his kitchen.

Now, after whatever it was that the cleaner had done, it wasn’t. There was nothing scarier than the ghost that lived in his kitchen.

When the cleaner entered, he looked surprised to see Tony still there but not as much as all his other cleaners had. Tony usually stayed to say hello to Steve. At first it had been just to make sure Bucky was still in good terms with the cleaner, but as of lately it was less about that and more about seeing Steve Rogers, art student on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, and cleaner the rest of the time. Tony liked watching the way his muscles flexed. Was that a crime?

Probably. He considered making research on it but felt worse after the thought.

“Hello Mr. Stark!” said Steve giving him one of his bright smiles. He then eyed the place and seemed a bit more startled. “Woah, did you have a party or something? The place is trashed.”

“No,” he stood up and rubbed the back of his neck, which had been hurting like a motherfucker for the last two days in which he’d been constantly worried about his house trying to murder him. “I didn’t have a party. My roommate did.”

Steve seemed amused by that and turned to give the cat a fond look. “You did? Did you have some friends over? Or was it a date that went bad?”

“No,” repeated Tony, “not that one. My _other_ roommate. The one I can’t see, and normally stays in the kitchen.

Steve paled, and his mind went into a spiral of guilt, quickly catching on what had happened. Everything had been silent for the past week and he had thought what he did had helped, but…

It was his fault. He had known that sage could make things worse if the presence was too strong, that it would anger them, but by the way Mr. Stark had talked about it, he never thought it could be like that. He’d been irresponsible, inconsiderate, and for that, now a man’s house was trying to hurt him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. This is my fault. I tried to do something and…”

“What?” he interrupted him, meaning, _what exactly he had done to make things worse_ , but his mind went blank after Steve added:

“You can come and stay in my place tonight if you would like. Clearly this house is no longer safe for you. Please, consider getting a priest or, or someone, to cleanse it, because the thing that’s in here could seriously hurt you.”

Tony wanted to laugh. He was pretty sure he’d be a lot more comfortable in a hotel room, which he could afford more than comfortably, but Steve Rogers, who worked and studied, probably couldn’t. It was upsetting that he had caused the thing in his kitchen to turn violent, but it was also kind of endearing that he had cared enough to do that, and that he was taking responsibility for it. He took a deep breath and eyed up and down the man that still looked guilty. Then he smirked. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

“Okay, I’ll stay with you tonight. And I guess I’ll call a priest or whatever. Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Steve fucking Rogers that was built like an underwear model blushed. “Mr. Stark that’s…” he cleared his throat, “good. Okay, that’s good.” He looked like he wanted to say something about the pet name, but he didn’t have the chance, because all the cabinets in the kitchen were aggressively opened, their contents thrown out, and all the lights of the house started turning on and off.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue,” mumbled Tony, grabbing Bucky and rushing to the door, using his one free arm to grab Steve and drag him out of there from where he’d been glued to his spot.

“Wait, isn’t there anything you should get? Your phone, or maybe your laptop? I could try to get them for you, I…”

“Are you crazy? No one is going inside for a while,” replied Tony, staring at him like he was insane. Because he definitely was, if he was suggesting such a thing. “Forget it. I have my phone in my pocket, like every sensible person, and there’s nothing more I need at the moment. I’m not saying I’ll abandon everything, but right now, we’re out of there, man.”

“Of course, you’re right. And, Mr. Stark? I’m really sorry.”

Tony stared at him, looking all apologetic with his puppy eyes that shouldn’t work in such a huge body, but somehow still did, and sighed. “It’s fine. Stop apologizing, just, take me to your place? I do not have my wallet on me.” But he had a cellphone. He could ask his assistant for money or he could make a transference from his phone, but the idea of seeing what kind of place Steve Rogers lived, the art student that worked as a cleaner and apparently also cleansed haunted houses but was bad at it, was way too tempting.

֍

Steve took Mr. Stark to his crappy apartment because it was his fault the man was currently homeless, even though someone with that much money couldn’t, really, be considered that. He was sure Mr. Stark could buy a hotel if he wanted to, but the situation was his responsibility. The man hadn’t moved from the house before, he never wanted to leave until Steve basically forced him to, and for that, it was on him to get him a place to stay. He didn’t think it was his job to feed him too, but when they made it to his apartment they were both hungry, and Steve was a good cook. He liked making his own food, to stay healthy, and Mr. Stark was a guest. Surprisingly not a good one, for he didn’t offer to wash the dishes nor anything, but he praised his food and that was good enough—Bucky praised him too, and that was even better. If he had to be honest, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to, that cat was the main reason he cared about the man at all.

Or he had been, back when he’d just met him. Tony Stark was hardly ever home, but for the past two weeks, he’d stayed around to say hello to Steve. He always asked how he looked, complimented him on his work, and took forever to say goodbye to his cat. Tony Stark was a genius, according to Google, and though he could do a little bit more for the world and a little bit less for the military, Steve didn’t think he was a bad person. Maybe, with some incentive, he could even be good.

He certainly felt like a good person, sitting across from Steve in the kitchen counter because it was that or the coffee table, smiling and joking like that wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever done, mocking Steve for doing something without his permission that had really fucked everything up.

They talked for hours. Tony’s passion was engineering but he was surprisingly knowledgeable in art and wanted to hear all about Steve’s style and the people he admired. They talked about New York, about why Steve had ever left and why he had no intention of going back, and they talked about cats, which were Tony’s newest interest and something Steve was more than well-informed in. They even talked about movies, although they didn’t find much common ground on that area, the conversation was entertaining nevertheless. It was fun, talking to Tony Stark. There was a complicity in the air that Steve had only felt with strangers on counted occasions, only with the best people he’d ever met, his most precious friends. Tony Stark was barely more than a stranger then, but Steve found himself hoping he could be more than that in the near future.

“I really,” Tony’s speech was interrupted by a yawn again, “can’t believe you haven’t,” yet another one, “haven’t seen it. You’ve missed half your life!”

Steve shrugged and smiled sheepishly. He wasn’t a big fan of aliens or space battles. “Hey, you sound tired. Would you like to take a nap?”

Tony was yawning once again, so he nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. Sorry. I didn’t get to sleep much last night.”

“I don’t understand why you stayed there!”

“I was waiting for you!”

Steve led him to the bedroom, which was the one room in his tiny apartment, and closed the door when he left, decided to get some job done while his guest slept. Bucky had been sleeping ever since he finished eating, and only woke slightly to notice Steve joining him on the couch. He moved so he would be glued to Steve’s thigh, and then continued sleeping, which was more than perfect for him. He could’ve stayed like that for hours. He did. But after two hours Mr. Stark’s cellphone was simply impossible to ignore, and Steve figured he could at least ask him if he wanted him to answer and give excuses for him.

He knocked on the door before entering, only to find Stark awake but lazily stretched on the bed, doing nothing.

“I don’t think I’ll go back to my place.”

Steve arched his eyebrows. “Well you’re not staying here forever.”

Stark pouted. “Why not? I thought you felt responsible for making my house unlivable.”

“Mr. Stark…”

“You can call me Tony. In fact, _please_ call me Tony. It makes me horny when you call me ‘Mr. Stark’, so unless you’re inclined to do something about that situation, you better stop it.”

Steve stared at him in shock, heat rising in his face.

“Oh, fuck. Is that unethical? It is, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I—”

“Wait, no. What do you mean by that?”

“Please tell me you don’t want me to tell you what hearing you call me that makes me, Rogers.”

“No! Of course not, I meant…” he looked away, placing his hands on his hips and looking as if he was praying for patience. “Unethical, why? You’re not my boss. I could ask to stop cleaning your place at any moment.”

“Ah,” mumbled Tony, eyeing him curiously. “Is that so?” he smirked. “Why, Mr. Rogers. Did you invite me here with ulterior motives?”

“No!”

“Oh. My bad. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

“I guess… what if I had ulterior motives?”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t. You just offered to leave when you thought you put me in a hard place.”

“Yeah, that was then. Now’s different.”

Steve still thought that with a little push, Tony Stark could be considered a good person. But he was going to need some help. Just a little bit. And why couldn’t Steve be the one to do so? The man certainly looked incredibly attractive lying on his bed, hair disheveled from his nap, with no socks and shirt halfway undone. Tony Stark could probably buy a hotel, but he had chosen to come and stay at Steve’s place. Tony Stark was…

He gulped.

“That was a long pause,” commented Tony.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head and let his gaze wonder. “And what exactly are those motives… Mr. Stark?”

Tony licked his lips and spread his legs, folding his arms under his head. “You’re the creative one, Rogers. What do you have in mind?”

Taking off his shirt, and jumping on the bed to straddle the man, just for starters. Steve didn’t really do one-night-stands. He didn’t really have sex on a first date either. He was a romantic. But there was something romantic, he thought, on Tony Stark choosing to go to his place, a small apartment he’d never even been before, to get away from the thing that was trying to hurt him, the thing that Steve had only made worse. There was something romantic, he thought, in the way Tony looked at him with both hunger and fascination, with those dark eyes of his that seemed to be reading Steve so intently. Sex didn’t have to be romantic, and from the tabloids it sounded like sex with Tony Stark never was, but there was something in there nevertheless that was enough for Steve to throw away all caution and simply drown on the kisses and caresses and just hope time would stop for a moment or two so he could memorize the way Tony looked under him so he could draw it later, because it was a gorgeous sight. Wonderful, vibrant, erotic and beautiful and masculine and, just, romantic.

Panting and satiated, he almost fell asleep there, legs tangled and shoulders touching, but he heard a light scratch coming from the closed door. He knew right away what it was. He took a deep breath and went to open it on his way to the bathroom. “Hey buddy, sorry you woke up and were alone, huh? That’s okay, you can come in now.” He then remembered that wasn’t, in fact, his cat, and didn’t know what was or wasn’t allowed, so he turned to see if Tony disagreed. The way Tony was looking at him took his breath away.

“You sure I cannot stay here forever?”

Steve grinned, shook his head, and kept walking.

**֍**

**5 days later.**

It would take a lot more sex, a lot more talking, and a lot more hours of Steve genuinely worrying about whether he’d made a mistake and Tony Stark was, in fact, insane, for the man to finally leave his apartment and find a house for himself. The people he hired to get his things out of his old house quitted within the hour, and so his first night on his new one, not far from his old haunted place, was a little rudimentary, since all he had was a bed, his phone and his charger. The kitchen was completely stacked, though, since he was pretty sure nothing from there could’ve survived the week and he had needed new glasses anyway, so they were not worried about having plates to eat the pizza they ordered.

“This place is nice,” commented Steve, staring out the balcony to the beach. Bucky was exhausted with all the moving, so he was asleep in Steve’s arms.

Tony was jealous of the damn cat.

“You like it?”

“Yeah. Are you sure there are no spirits in this one? Maybe we could make a cleansing. I could…”

“Stick to the duster and away from the sage, cleaner boy. You already fucked up once.”

Steve gasped and frowned, ready to defend himself, but Tony silenced him with a kiss. When they separated, his face had softened.

“I mean it.”

Steve frowned again. “That wasn’t…! I…!” he ran a hand through his hair and huffed, as quietly as he could to not disturb Bucky. “Fine. But a single door slams or opens on its own and you’re calling a specialist.”

“You got yourself a deal, sweetheart.” He smiled and pulled Steve down for another kiss, mindful of the little thing that was soundly sleeping in between them. He was, after all, the one responsible for all the changes in Tony’s life, and he would forever be grateful he’d left a bucket full of nuts and bolts on his kitchen that one day all those weeks prior.


End file.
